


Getting A Clue

by Angelise (angelise7)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Original Character Death(s), POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:23:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelise7/pseuds/Angelise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Starsky finally catches a clue as to Hutch’s feelings for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Getting A Clue

 

 

 

“Tell me again why I need to be out of bed this early in the morning, especially since **I’m** the injured party this time out?”

Cradling my right arm against my chest, I do nothing to hide the yawn that’s threatening to split my face in two. In fact, I milk it for all it’s worth, adding a long exaggerated sigh of weariness at the end just for good measure.

“Man, can’t believe how tired I am. Making coffee has just about done me in. Don’t even want to think about cooking breakfast.” I throw a perfectly crafted ‘woe is me’ look at my partner, hoping he’ll get the major hint I just dropped on him. 

Hutch ignores my theatrics and continues to dress. “Do you need me to help you wash up this morning?” he asks before slipping on his shoulder harness.

I take a quick whiff of my left armpit and declare myself good to go. “Nah.” With a grimace I readjust the sling I’m wearing into a more comfortable position. Damn thing aggravates the hell out of me, and I would love nothing more than to throw it into the Pacific Ocean. Unfortunately I’m stuck with it for the next month or so. “Until this bullet wound heals, one shower a day is gonna have to do. Can’t be risking my life slippin’ and slidin’ in the shower with you every night.”

“Hey, at least I volunteered to help you  **take** a shower. Could have left you stinking to high heavens.” Hutch collects the pillow he borrowed last night and piles it and the blanket in the far corner of the couch. “Besides, it wasn’t me who kept dropping stuff. First the soap, then the shampoo,  **then** your washrag. You’d think it was your fingers that were injured, not your shoulder.”

I elbow Hutch to the side so that I can plop down on the couch and stretch my legs. These past few days of rest and recuperation have almost driven me batshit crazy. If Hutch hadn’t been so kind as to persuade my doc to let me return to work, I do believe I would have happily strangled the old man. Paperwork is better than watching TV any day. I mean, how many soap operas can one man watch and still remain sane?

“My fingers work perfectly fine, babe,” I reply once I’m comfortably situated on the couch. “And all that dropping was just my way of checking out the world famous Hutchinson ass. You know, the one all the women scream about.”

A strange look comes over Hutch’s face, but before I can examine it closer or the blush that accompanies it, he turns away in search of the coffee I just finished making.

“Okay, that didn’t work.” I follow after Hutch with my gaze and secretly admire his lean physique. Damn, he’s fine. No wonder all the women flock to his side, not to mention quite a few men, me included it now seems.

I know I’m a little dense, a fact that anyone at the station would be more than happy to verify. And why it’s only taken me two long years to get a clue as to the true nature of Hutch’s feelings for me, I have no idea. But here I am, sitting on the couch and staring at my partner like a lovesick fool, knowing without a doubt that his feelings for me go way beyond friendship and partnership. Hutch loves me, truly and deeply loves me, like a man would love a woman, like a man would love a man if said men were gay.

And yeah, I’m gonna do the denial thing, say I’m not gay. At least I don’t think I’m gay. Never have thought about gettin’ down and dirty with some guy. I’m a woman’s man, always have been, and never in a million years would I have thought I’d be anything else. But something’s changed, something deep down inside of me, like deep in my soul something’s changed, and it’s all because of Hutch.

Being with Hutch all this time . . . it’s like we’re more than partners, more than friends, closer than brothers even. Hell, Huggy swears we’re like an old married couple considering the way we carry on sometimes. And you know what? He’s right. We  **are** a couple. Just don’t have the papers that make it legit.

I scratch at the three-day growth of whiskers on my chin and contemplate why this particular fact doesn’t bother me. I come up absolutely empty-handed, which doesn’t really surprise me. Of course, more than likely, I could have thought of a hundred reasons a while back, but like I said, things are different now. There’ve been too many brushes with death, too many women who, when it comes right down to it, never came close to loving me like Hutch does.

Hutch is my partner for life, in more ways than one, and I don’t care one iota that the object of my affection comes equipped with a set of plumbing I’ve never fooled around with romantically. That just don’t matter. I love Hutch with all my heart, and if that means learning how to suck dick or fuck ass, then so be it. Hutch is worth it.

“More than worth it,” I whisper to the walls.

“If you plan on catching a ride with me this morning, you better get your butt in gear. Don’t think Dobey would appreciate you coming to work in your bathrobe, even if you are on the injured list.”

Lost in my thoughts, I’m caught by surprise and nearly jump off the couch at the sound of Hutch’s low-pitched voice teasing my left ear. I automatically turn in the direction of that sexy voice and find myself face to face with the bluest of blue eyes. Helplessly, my gaze, without hesitation, lowers several inches and zeroes in on Hutch’s mouth.

Man, I’ve never wanted to suck face with Hutch as much as I do right now, and I can’t help but lick my lips in anticipation of the kiss I just  **know** is about to come my way. “Maybe I could start a new fad,” I offer with a shaky chuckle.

“Yeah, and maybe I’ll grow a mustache. Ain’t happening, Gordo.”

Much to my dismay all Hutch does is ruffle my hair, not exactly what I was hoping for. I’m pretty sure a kiss would have been so much better.

“Seriously, Starsk,” he says, moving away from the couch, “get your butt in gear. We don’t want to be late again.”

For a man who has just been shot in the shoulder and nearly run over by a transit bus, I bound off the couch with way too much energy. My enthusiasm nearly topples me into the arms of my partner, who luckily returns from the kitchen just in time to keep me from leaving lip prints on the floor.

“Hey!” Hutch exclaims. “You trying to finish the job that bus started?”

Certainly not one to waste a golden opportunity, I deliberately over-balance and, once I’m expertly caught and held by Hutch’s strong, muscular arms, I can’t help but grin like a Cheshire cat whose best kept fantasy has just been fulfilled.

“My hero,” I whisper in what I trust is a sultry voice. Hoping Hutch will get a hint as to these new feelings of mine, I move closer and circle his waist with my good arm. “Just where would I be without you?”

“In a loony bin, obviously,” Hutch suggests with a suspicious smile.

I reluctantly allow my guardian angel to push me back a few inches but not without making darn sure he knows exactly how disappointed I am with the change in our positions. I huff and then pout, which only makes Hutch look at me like I’m some alien from outer space.

“You’re acting mighty weird, partner. You  **sure** that bus didn’t hit your head?”

I catch a glimpse of what I can only describe as fear in Hutch’s eyes, and decide it’s time to let him off the hook. Don’t want to scare the man shitless before I can make my case.

“My head is completely intact, I’ll have you know,” I answer, vowing mentally to behave for now.

“It’s not your head I’m worried about. A two by four couldn’t crack that skull.”

I’m given a friendly shove toward the bedroom, and I can’t help but enjoy the feel of Hutch’s hands on my body. It’s familiar yet strange and I’m trying hard to reconcile the old Starsk to this new Starsk that has somehow fallen in love with his partner.

“It’s your gray matter that’s got me worried,” Hutch goes on to say. “I don’t think it’s firing on all cylinders.”

“Don’t you worry about my brain. It’s working just fine.”

Way too fine, if you ask me. The dreams I’ve been having, the random thoughts, the memories of Hutch and me, it’s all been a lot to deal with. A  **hell** of a lot.

After one swift spit bath, I’m standing in front of the mirror examining the sorry excuse I call a face. To put it bluntly, I look like shit, and it becomes perfectly clear why Hutch hasn’t laid one on me. Who’d want to kiss that?

I point a finger at the mirror. “Certainly won’t be winning any beauty contests with that mug,” I tell my mirror image.

With a sigh of disgust, I fumble for a razor and a can of shaving cream. Soon there’s white foam everywhere butmy face, and I’m literally on the verge of tossing in the towel when Hutch nudges the door open.

“You look like you could use some help,” he offers with a smirk, and the grin on his face widens when he steps forward and finger-combs foam out of my curls.

“What gave you that idea?” I grumble. Grabbing a towel, I dab at the shaving cream decorating the front of my bathrobe. A sideways glance at Hutch reveals how his heavy-lidded gaze is following every move of my hand. Instantly the notion of behaving flies right out the old mental door.

“Thank God you came along when you did,” I declare a little too excitedly. Not waiting for an answer, I casually shrug out of my robe and pretend not to notice I’m dressed in just my briefs, briefs, I might add, that are one size too small because a certain someone, who has been shoveling in way too much pizza, is too proud to buy the next larger size.

Sucking in my gut so that Hutch won’t notice the extra weight I’ve put on during the past six months, I turn and innocently ask, “Did I get it all?”

Innocent, my ass. I know full well there’s a dab of foam clinging precariously to a patch of chest hair right above my left tit, and like the shameless hussy that I am, I lean forward and present my chest to Hutch. “Kinda stupid of me to think I could shave one-handed, huh?”

Hutch makes a strangled noise once faced with my hairy chest. “Prob… probably slit you throat, knowing you,” he finally chokes out.

“Boy, wouldn’t some of our slightly less than stellar associates love that.” Holding my breath, I watch Hutch lift an unsteady hand to my chest. He captures the errant foam, but during the act of swiping it free, his fingertips accidentally grazes my tit. My whole world tilts on its axis, and it’s all I can do to keep my legs locked in place and stop them from dropping me on my ass.

“Fuck.”

Turning abruptly, I grind my erection against the edge of the sink and bite off the groan of frustration that rises in the back of my throat. The groan, sorry to say, refuses to die gracefully, and the reason for its rebellion is the solid physique plastering itself to my back.

“I’m not sure what game you’re playing here, Dave, but if this is you getting your rocks off at my expense, then I’m gonna say goodbye, and you can find your own damn way to the station.”

The all too familiar fear of abandonment clutches at my heart, and I rush to reassure Hutch. “Babe, it ain’t like that. You bein’ gay and all, I thought we could -- ” Hutches cuts me off before I can finish my explanation.

Hutch backs away and grips the doorknob so hard his knuckles turn white.

“I don’t know where you’re getting your information, and personally I don’t give a shit. But if you think I’m gonna stand by and let you make a joke out of my feelings for you, well, just remember I too carry a gun.”

Caught off guard by Hutch’s confession  **and** threat, I stare open-mouthed at the image of my angry partner in the mirror. Feelings for me. Hutch is finally admitting, right out in the open, that he has feelings forme _. Took you long enough, Blondie_ , I mentally inform the scowling man in the mirror _._

Snapping my jaw shut, I make a move that hopefully will declare my intentions. I invade Hutch’s personal space and reach back with my good arm so that I can grip the back of his neck. His eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You wouldn’t really shoot me, would ya, Hutch? Not when I finally got a ride on the clue bus.”

I tighten my hold Hutch’s nape and watch him close his eyes, like he’s afraid to acknowledge the image of us in the mirror.

“It’s a ride, I might add, I’d be more than willing to take with you for as long you want me on board. You do want me on board, right, Hutch?”

Hutch doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t answer my question. I let go of him and scrub at my face. “Tell me I haven’t misread your feelings for me. It’s love, right? Until death do us part love?”

Hutch grasps my hips with those strong hands of his. His fingers dig into my flesh, holding me absolutely still as we finally lock gazes with each other in the mirror again. He remains silent, just staring at me while I stare at him. His silence makes me nervous, and I open my mouth, praying what comes out makes sense. “And before you ask, no. No, I haven’t lost my mind and, no, I have no idea what I’m getting myself into. But I don’t care. I’ve fallen for you, you big lummox.”

A hesitant smile appears on Hutch’s face, and I realize I’ve done it again, read my partner’s mind perfectly. “And Hutch, I’ll freely admit that all I know is women, but never let it be said that Dave Starsky isn’t ready and willing to broaden his horizons.”

I decide what's left of my confession requires us to be standing face to face. Slowly I turn around, and immediately the grin on my face grows three times bigger - the reason being the simple fact that, instead of dropping away as one would expect, Hutch has kept his hands firmly attached to my hips. Feeling Hutch’s fingers on my skin is scorching hot, and I find myself struggling to speak coherently.

“I know you’re not gonna believe this, Hutch, but I’m as much in love with you as you are with me, and I’m hoping you’ll teach me everything I need to know about making love to a man or, to be more specific, making love to you.” Hutch works a few fingers work their way under the waistband of my briefs, and their touch totally unhinges me. My legs give up the fight and buckle helplessly, forcing me to grip the sink to keep from falling. “And if I screw up, which I’m sure I will, I hope you’ll have the patience to show me what I did wrong.”

We gaze at each other for several minutes, neither one of us willing to make the first move. I finally gather my courage and, after releasing the death-grip I have on the sink, ease my hands beneath Hutch’s sweater. God, I love this particular sweater. It’s the snuggly thick, wheat-colored one, and I must confess I rub against it,  _accidentally_ of course, on a routine basis.

My heart rate triples when my fingers come in contact with the hard, pebbled territory of my partner’s nipples, and from the way Hutch closes his eyes and groans, I’m pretty sure it’s affecting him as much as it’s affecting me. “I really want to get this right,” I lean forward and whisper in his ear.

A startled whistle greets the brush of our groins against each other, and I’m not sure who made the sound. Not that it’s important. What  **is** important is me not embarrassing the hell out of myself by coming in my shorts. Hell, you’d think I was some randy teenager with his first case of puppy love.

It takes me a full sixty seconds to convince my brain to vacate my dick and move back into my skull. I’ve got something else to say, and it won’t get said if my mind is focusing all its energy on matters down below.

“I want to be the perfect lover,” I force out between clenched teeth. “You deserve it, Hutch. You, more than anybody else I know, deserve to be loved to perfection.”

Hutch, who hasn’t been able to get a word in edgewise, finally takes matters into his own hands or should I say he takes me into his arms.

“Shut up, Dave.”

“I will, if you kiss me.” Might as well go for gold, I always say.

“Pushy S.O.B., aren’t you?” Hutch has a look of disbelief on his face, but it’s one of happy disbelief, not confused or angry. I’ll take happy over confused and angry any day.

“You bet I’m pushy, especially when it comes to something I want very much.”

“Are you saying my kiss is something you want?”

I grip Hutch’s shoulders and hold on for dear life. “Oh yeah. Your kiss, your love. I want them both very,  **very** much.”

First it’s just a soft brush of mouth against mouth, just enough to tease me into leaning closer to Hutch. He repeats the maneuver, but this time nips sharply on my lower lip.

For a second, and in total synch, we draw back from each other and take a deep breath. Our gazes meet and in that instant a mutual decision is made, for good or bad, we’re in this together, come hell or high water.

“Oh hell, Hutch, kiss me already, okay?”

Hutch complies with my request and I swear he’s searching for a taste of my soul. Quickly though, it goes from ‘so tender and intense, you’re breaking my heart’ to ‘so filthy and wet, you’re sucking my brain out through my dick.’

It ends too soon and as soon as my mouth is finally free, I sag back against the sink and strubbled for air. “Damn, Hutch, who in the hell taught you how to suck face?” Rubbing my lips, I stare in amazement at my partner. “That kiss was so damn hot I swear I heard bells ringing.”

“That’s your phone, you idiot.”

I nuzzle the hand that gently cups my cheek and would start purring if I wasn’t so short-winded. “If I’d known kissing you would be so fucking fantastic, I would’ve switched teams a long time ago.” Eyebrows waggling, I hopefully ask, “Can I have another one?”

Hutch answers with a smile full of tenderness and love, and I’m more than ready to lose myself in it for the next fifty or sixty years. “Pucker up, Hotlips,” I huskily instruct.

“Dave, I think we really need to talk first. This is coming out of nowhere, and I need to find out exactly what’s going on in that head of yours. What’s with the sudden interest in men… in me, for that matter? Why the sudden change of heart?”

A frown of extreme displeasure is sent in Hutch’s direction, especially when he plants a hand in the middle of my chest, thoroughly preventing me from collecting my next kiss. “Aw, come on. One more kiss, then we can talk.”

Staring at Hutch’s mouth, I imagine us kissing each other all over again, this time naked and tangled in the sheets on my bed. Just the thought of his mouth on my dick has me hearing bells once more.

“Babe, your phone’s ringing. Maybe you should answer it?”

Hutch’s voice is the slightest bit wobbly, and that alone tells me just how much he’s been affected by the sudden and unexpected shift in our relationship. It makes me want to hug him until he can’t breathe. Hug him so tight, he’d be able to feel how hard my heart is beating with love for him.

Man, was that corny or what?

I push away from the sink, advancing slowly on Hutch until he’s backed against the open bathroom door. “Whoever it is, they can call back. I’m busy.”

“Dave, I really think you should answer your phone. It’s been ringing off the hook for the past five minutes.”

Pointing a finger at Hutch, I instruct, “Don’t move.”

I manage to take only one step past Hutch when an idea forms in my mind. Turning back, I leer suggestively at my partner. “On second thought, why don’t you take those lethal lips of yours into the bedroom, and I’ll be with you in a jiffy.”

“It’s a work day,” Hutch reminds me. “We really need to get going.”

“Well, aren’t you just full of good news?” I erase the grin from Hutch’s face with a heart-stopping kiss, and chuckle heartily when, once finished, Hutch clutches at me as if his legs are suddenly too weak to hold him upright. “Liked that one, did ya?”

“Ans… answer your phone.”

I transfer Hutch’s hands to the doorframe before snapping off a salute. “Yes, sir.” Jogging into the living room, I do as ordered. “This better be damn important,” I bark at the unknown caller.

“Is the threat of losing your job if you’re not here within the next thirty minutes important enough for you?” Dobey yells back.

Tucking the phone under one ear so that I can readjust my way too tight briefs, I actually take a moment to consider my boss’ threat. Fool around with Hutch, be late for work, possibly not show up at all and lose my job versus resisting kissing Hutch, suffering a total mental meltdown, go to work and keep my job. I look over at Hutch, and my decision is made the minute I see the way he’s adjusting himself in his corduroy pants.

“Dobey, you can take this job and -- ”

“Starsky, I need for Hutch to get down to the station as soon as possible. I’m serious, son. Get down here now.”

Dobey hangs up before I can say a word.

“Well, damn. Guess we’re going to work after all,” I mutter. Glancing up at the man now standing beside me, I bemoan my fate. “Guess we’ll have to put those kisses on hold. Dobey wants us at work, pronto.”

Turning, I march toward the living room door. “And just so you’ll know, the first chance we get a break, I’m hauling your ass into the nearest broom closet for another round of kisses. Practice makes perfect, right? And as we both know, I **always** strive for perfection.”

“Right. You are so full of shit.”

Hutch is still standing by the phone, and I shoot him a quizzical look. “Forgive the pun but, are you coming? Remember, you’re the one driving.”

“Uh, babe?”

I reach for my leather jacket. “Yeah, Hutch?”

“Don’t’cha think it would be prudent if you put on some clothes before going to work?”

Draping my jacket over my bare shoulders, I don’t miss a beat. “You mean you want me to waste time putting on  **clothes** ? The man said ASAP, Hutch.”

“Starsk!”

 

+++++++

“No. Absolutely not. No way, no how.”

I aim my best glare at the man sitting behind the desk. It obviously makes no impression, so I add for extra measure, “I won’t allow it. Not in this lifetime.”

Completely ignoring my outburst, Dobey turns to look at Hutch and once again begins discussing the details of the case.

Oh hell no. Nobody ignores Dave Starsky.

Slamming my fist down on Dobey’s desk, I loudly iterate my demands, “He’s not going. Not without me by his side.” I cross my left arm over my chest and lean against Hutch’s chair, daring Dobey to separate us. “Where Hutch goes, I go. End of story.”

Dobey doesn’t buy my act for a second. He stands up, walks around his desk and starts counting off his reasons finger by finger.

“Number one, in case you’ve forgotten,” Dobey points his index finger at me, “three days ago you were shot while on duty which, if I remember correctly, required an overnight stay in the hospital. Two, you are still officially deskbound. And three, unless I’m mistaken, you will not be released for  **active** duty for another two weeks. Therefore, you CAN  **NOT** accompany Hutch on this assignment.”

Dobey mirrors my stance, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the edge of his desk. “Officer Simms is a good man, Starsky. He’ll watch Hutch’s back on this.”

Feeling more rebellious than normal, I refuse to budge on this issue. “Cap, Simms is a damn rookie, and you know it.”

“Starsk, you’re not my mother. I’ll be okay. Simms is . . . ”

Hutch tries to interrupt my tirade but I’m on a train that cannot be derailed.

“Simms  **is** a rookie, and I will  **not** let you send Hutch into the field with a rookie at his side.”

Oops. Wrong thing to say.

Dobey is suddenly in my face, and I can smell on his breath the cinnamon roll he ate for breakfast. “Keep pushing, detective,” he warns, “and you’ll be sitting behind that desk of yours for a whole lot longer than two weeks. Do I make myself clear? Good. Now, get out of my office.”

Before I can say anything else that will surely jeopardize my career if not my very life, Hutch yanks me out of Dobey’s office. With a glare that speaks louder than words, he shoves me into a chair and orders me to stay put while he looks over the file Dobey gave him earlier. I’m so goddamn mad it’s only a matter of seconds before I’m up out of my chair and heading toward Dobey’s office. Hutch is right behind me. He grabs my elbow and drags me down the hall into an empty conference room.

My mouth is open and ready to heap curse upon curse on Dobey’s head, but before I can speak, Hutch is devouring my words with a kiss and I completely forget why I’m so mad.

The kiss goes from hot to hungry and desperate in sixty seconds flat, and suddenly I’m praying that Hutch had the foresight to lock the door ‘cause I’m about to enter into the Promised Land. I fumble my way past Hutch’s belt but my hand is slapped away.

“Not here, not at work,” Hutch cautions me.

I’m not stupid. I know we’re at work. I know this isn’t the place nor the time for feelin’ up one’s partner. But there’s this need inside me, this fear that’s whispering this might just be the last chance I get to be with the man I love.

“Touch me,” I demand in a voice that is so hoarse it can barely be heard. 

Hutch hears me though, and for a brief moment the fear lets go of my heart. He yanks me close, wraps his arms around me so tight that I can feel every inch of his body plastered against mine. He grips my ass with both hands and nearly lifts me off my feet.

It’s not enough.

Ripping my mouth free so that I can clear away the gray clouds that are obscuring my vision, I concentrate on acquainting myself with never before explored territory. Soon I’m busy biting and licking Hutch’s throat, and it takes my oxygen-deprived brain several seconds to realize things are not progressing like I want. Instead of blistering my lips with another one of his mind-boggling kisses, Hutch is all of a sudden standing clear across the room clutching the back of a chair and panting like he’s just finished running a marathon.

I focus my gaze on his swollen lips, his rucked-up sweater and the pale flesh of his abdomen. The need inside me demands more. Instantly I’m on the move.

“Not another step, Dave.”

I’m obviously hearing voices ‘cause I know for damn sure that Hutch did  **not** just tell me to put the brakes on. We need this.  **I** need this. My feet keep moving straight for him.

A knock on the door saves Hutch from being subjected to my desperation.

“If the two of you are finished with whatever it is you’re doing,” we hear Simms call out, “there’s a meeting Hutch needs to attend.”

“Be there in a sec,” my partner answers after taking a deep breath.

Simms’ voice is like a bucket of cold water, and the urge to kiss Hutch senseless dies a quick death. Suddenly I’m more concerned with trying to convince him of the error of Dobey’s ways.

“Hutch, you gotta talk some sense into Dobey. Even one arm down, I’m a better cop than Simms. This thing sounds like trouble with a capital T, and I can’t let you go it alone.”

“It’s just a routine bust. I’ll be fine with Simms.” Hutch straightens his clothes, then moves to my side and grips my hand. “Why this sudden rush of protectiveness? We’ve worked solo before.”

“It’s different.” An unhappy sigh slips out, and I hide my face in the crook of Hutch’s neck and shoulder when he pulls me into his arms.

“How’s it different this time?”

Hutch threads his fingers through my curls and traces a path up and down the back of my neck. His gentle touch moves me to the max, and I press my lips to the visible pulse pounding at the base of his throat. “My heart’s involved this time, Hutch, and I don’t think I’d survive if something happened to you.”

That’s absolutely true. I definitely would not make it for very long if something happened to Hutch. Eating my gun versus living without Hutch. You do the math. 

My earnest confession must really hit home with Hutch because the next thing I know his fingers are tightening in my hair, and he’s making this little hitching sound like he’s been caught by surprise or sucker punched in the gut. Before I can say anything else, Hutch is tilting my head back and searching my eyes as if they hold the answers to all of life’s mysteries. Satisfied with whatever he sees, he pulls me tight against his chest and claims my soul with an unbelievably tender kiss. As I yield to the pressure of Hutch’s sweet mouth, I realize that I’ve lost the battle.

Pulling back only far enough for me to see Hutch’s face, I clutch at his shoulders and whisper fiercely, “Promise me you’ll stay safe. No heroics. No jumping in front of speeding bullets. No leaping tall buildings with a single bound. No Superman shit, you hear me, Hutch?”

Hutch gently claims my mouth again, but gentle kisses are not what I need. I need a kiss that will promise me forever, a kiss that will seal our future together for all time.

“Just me and thee, Hutch. Always, forever, until the sun don’t shine no more.”

I offer the words to Hutch’s parted lips a second before I possess them, forcing them further open so that I can taste all of Hutch, steal his air, swallow the sound of my name that’s carried on a breathless cry.

Another knock on the door pulls us apart, but this time the separation is more reluctant, neither one of us willing to let go of this particular moment.

“Hutch! What the hell are you two doing in there? Dobey’s about to shit bricks ‘cause you’re not at the meeting. Come on, man.”

Simms’ whiney tenor rekindles my fear. “Hutch . . .” Believe it or not words fail me, and I simply stand there, gripping Hutch’s arms.

“I’ll be careful. Promise.” Hutch buries his face in my curls. “I’ll even leave the tights and cape in my locker, if that’ll make you feel better.”

“You asshole.” I clip Hutch’s chin with my fist before moving away to stare out the room’s single window. Its grunge-crusted glass turns blurry, and I swipe at the tears that are collecting in my eyes. Tears are for sissies, for wimps and fairies and --

Oh yeah.

"Dave?”

“Huh?”

There’s a pain crushing my heart, and it’s tearing away at my control. So much so that I’m almost to the point of begging Hutch to stay, but that would be wrong. Hutch is as dedicated to the job as I am, and neither one of us would leave our brothers in blue shorthanded. I hate the fact that I’m not there to back him up, but in all honesty, Dobey’s right to keep me deskbound. As injured as I am I’d only jeopardize Hutch’s safety and that’s definitely **not** on my agenda.

The words stick in my throat, but I finally get them out. “Go on. Go to your meeting. I’ll see you when you get out.”

“I love you.”

I swing around immediately, grunting with pain when my right hand makes contact with the window sill and the impact jostles my shoulder. Stars briefly appear before my eyes, and by the time they fade, Hutch has left the room.

“I love you, too, Blondie.” Even though I’m alone, I still say the words, hoping that Hutch’s guardian angel will hear them and redouble her efforts to keep him out of harm’s way.

“Keep him safe, dear lady or else you’ll be answering to one pissed as hell Dave Starsky. And you sure don’t want me on your case.”

Exiting the conference room, I spy Simms loitering near my desk, and a wicked grin spreads across my face. Maybe I should share some of my expert wisdom with the unsuspecting rookie.

God, I love being me sometimes.

+++++++

“Don’t say a word. Not one single word.”

The strain in Dobey’s voice and his haggard features warn me to back off, and I wisely do so. Not because I’m letting him off the hook for not listening to me, but because my focus is centered on finding Hutch. Nobody else matters at this moment. Not Simms, not Dobey, not anyone. Only Hutch. Only the man who is now my entire world.

“Where’s Hutch?”

Dobey drops his head into his hands and tiredly rubs at his bloodshot eyes. “Last I heard he was heading over to Simms’ house to tell his wife the news.”

That’s all I need to hear. I go barreling out of Dobey's office yelling at the top of my lungs for someone, anyone, to drive me back to my place.

The bust went sour almost immediately, the news of which I was deliberately kept in the dark about until nearly the very end. To keep my mind occupied, Dobey had me pulling the files on every case that Hutch and I had failed to solve over the past two years. Not that there were that many of them, but it was a task that sent me downstairs to the basement, away from the action so to say.

Recognizing Dobey's tactics I had borrowed a police band radio from one of the reporters who hung around the station on a regular basis. Unfortunately for me my captain is a whole lot smarter than he looks. Thirty minutes after entering the Tombs, Dobey showed up and confiscated the radio. Not only that, but anyone with knowledge of the bust that could be pumped for info was conspicuously missing or way too busy to talk.

It wasn’t until Lisa, one of the newly hired dispatchers I had been flirting with before the accident, hunted me down that I finally got wind of what was going on with the bust. The second the words ‘policeman down’ left her lips I was racing upstairs, my only thought being that of reaching Hutch’s side.

Dobey, who I swear must have a sixth sense when it comes to me and Hutch, caught me trying to lift the keys to one of the black and whites parked outside. Without saying a word, he hauled me into his office, parked my ass in a chair and dared me to start in with the ‘I told you so’s.’

“Don’t worry, Cap,” I mutter as I search the hallway for a willing volunteer. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you forget this one.”

I catch sight of a beat cop who owes me a favor, and take off running. All thoughts of retribution are placed on the back burner for now.

“Hey, Dawson! Remember that twenty you owe me? How’d you like to pay it back by giving me a lift home?”

+++++++

Don’t know how I knew Hutch would head to my place, but somehow I did. If it had been me, I would have done the same, gone straight to Hutch’s. I would have sought out the one person who means the world to me, who understands me more than anyone else. Anchor myself to their presence in an attempt to prove that I’m still alive and that I’m worthy to be the one who survived this time out.

“Hutch,” I whisper my partner’s name as I watch the scenery speed by.

Delivering the news of a loved one killed in action is never easy, and the few times we’ve had to perform this heartrending task, Hutch is the one who’s tormented by his emotions for days after. His heart is incredibly tender for being a cop, and it absolutely tears him up inside when a colleague dies. This time will be no different. In fact, it’ll be even worse.

Simms died covering Hutch.

And I know this sounds totally heartless and selfish, but I’m glad it wasn’t Hutch who played the hero. Yeah, our job is dangerous, and the odds are stacked against us, thus almost guaranteeing one of us will buy the farm before we reach our golden years. I hope and pray that we’ll beat those damn odds, but, if by some chance we don’t, then I pray it’s me and not Hutch that goes first. Hutch’s life is worth so much more than mine, and I would gladly sacrifice the remaining days of my existence on this earth to keep him alive and breathing.

Not only that, but I seriously doubt I’d survive Hutch dying before me. Not many people, hell, I don’t even think Hutch realizes how much my world revolves around him. I basically live in his back pocket, and there is no other place I’d rather be. If he was taken from me, my life wouldn’t be worth shit. Why would it be? How does one heart continue beating when the sole reason for its beating is gone?

Damn it, Hutch. Promise me you’ll stay put until I take my last breath.

I quietly enter my home after sending Dawson away with a grateful shake of the hand. All the lights are off in the living room and kitchen, but there's a flicker of light coming from the bedroom. Once I enter the room I realize Hutch has lit one of the candles I keep on the dresser for when I have a lady over and want to get romantic.

Guess I don't have to worry about that anymore.

Shifting my gaze around the room I find my partner sitting in the middle of the bed clutching one of my pillows to his chest. His face is buried in it, and from the way his shoulders are shaking, it's obvious Hutch is sobbing his heart out.

There are really no words I can say that will make the outcome of today any different than it is. There have been too many fallen comrades over the years, and all the words I would have offered to Hutch have all been said before. Besides, words aren't really what Hutch needs right now. He needs me, needs the security of our friendship and our love to help him cope with his grief. It's a need we're both too familiar with.

Toeing off my Addias, I climb onto the bed and settle in behind him, wrapping my good arm around his shoulders and hugging him hard as I nuzzle the silky strands of hair covering the back of his neck. We sit without moving for a good hour or so. Finally Hutch lets go of the pillow and tilts his head back, allowing it to rest on my shoulder.

I kiss his cheek before softly inquiring, "You okay, babe? Wanna talk about it?"

Hutch turns his head slightly and presses his mouth to my throat. "Yeah. No. I don't know."

I can feel the evidence of Hutch's tears dampen the skin of my jaw, and instinctively I tighten my hold on him, wishing with all my heart that I knew the right thing to do to erase the pain that's twisting inside his gut.

"I'm here, babe. Talk, don't talk. Whatever you want. I'm here for you, Hutch."

"Just. . . just hold me," Hutch whispers brokenly. "Just hold me until it doesn't hurt to breathe anymore."

"I gotcha, babe." Wanting only to soothe Hutch's battered soul, I begin to kiss him. My lips travel all over his face - his forehead, his eyes, his nose before gently touching down on his mouth and capturing the weary sigh that greets its arrival.

It goes without saying that I could stay like this for the rest of my life, and it's well into the night before Hutch stirs again. Waking from a light doze, I find myself being pushed down on the bed while Hutch carefully settles his larger frame beside me. His head comes to rest on my uninjured shoulder, and my breath quickens when he slides his hand beneath my shirt. 

"Dave?"

Hutch is playing with the sworls of hair surrounding a nipple, and it's stirring the hunger that has lain dormant since this morning. Digging teeth into my bottom lip, I struggle to keep my mind focused. "What’cha need, Hutch?"

"Did you know Simms had a daughter?"

"He did?"

I touch my lips to the blond softness tickling my chin. "Was she there when . . . when you--"

"Yeah." Hutch flattens his hand over my heart. "She must be about seven or eight, and damn if she doesn’t look just like Simms."

Hutch grows silent, and suddenly I know this child is the main reason his grief is so intense this time. "Talk to me, Hutch. What happened?"

"She . . . God, I had no idea she was in the room. She heard everything."

I curse the limitations my injured arm has placed on me, because right now all I want to do is wrap Hutch up in the tightest hug imaginable. "What happened?"

"I was sitting on the couch holding Kelli's hand when the little girl came out of nowhere and threw herself at me. She was crying her heart out and kept asking over and over where her daddy was."

Hutch sits up abruptly and covers his face with his hands. "I didn't know what to tell her." He turns and looks back at me, his crystal blue eyes filled with tears. "How do you tell a seven-year-old her daddy died taking a bullet for a complete stranger?” Hutch lets out a ragged sob, and his next statement surprises the hell out of me. “God, I hate this job. On days like this I absolutely fucking hate it.”

Hearing the anguish in Hutch’s voice, I follow after him and slip my arm around his waist. "Jesus, Hutch."

Unable to supply my partner with the absolution he's looking for, I scoot closer and rest my forehead in the space between his shoulder blades. "Have you ever thought," I hesitantly ask, "that maybe it's time we find a new line of work? Doubt we could take early retirement, but I’m sure there’s something out there for us other than police work."

I kiss my way up Hutch's spine to the base of his neck. "You know, there’s this friend of mine who has a fishing business down in the Florida Keys. He's always complaining about needing more help. If you're interested I could give him a call."

Forcing a smile, I slide my hand from Hutch's waist up to his chest and tweak a nipple, not so much to arouse but to pull Hutch’s attention away from his morose thoughts. "Of course, since I can't stand touchin' worms, you'll have to be the one puttin' the bait on the hooks. Yeah, that's it. You bait, I'll cast."

I can feel more than hear Hutch's chuckle and my heart lightens. Maybe it  **is** time to move on. Time to live a life that isn’t shadowed by death. “I’m willing if you are. Sure as hell wouldn’t mind soaking up rays instead of dodging bullets."

"You want us to become fishermen?" my partner asks incredulously.

I crawl around Hutch and take a seat in front of him. "Hey, with your blond looks and my incredible sex appeal, we'll make a killing."

"Fish have a thing for blonds?"

"Tourists, you stubborn old Blintz." Tackling Hutch to the mattress, I commence nibbling my way up his throat to his jaw. "And I don't know about fish, but  **I** sure have a thing for blonds. One blond in particular."

"And do I know this blond you're speaking about?"

Hutch moans and digs his fingers into my ass when I answer him with a kiss that thoroughly introduces him to the person in question. "How's that for an introduction?"

I'm trying to burrow my way underneath Hutch's sweater when the whisper of my name stops me. Looking up I see Hutch watching me with a look on his face that can only be described as pure love.

"Dave?"

Hutch brushes my cheek with his fingers, and I turn my head so that I can kiss each one of them. "Yeah, Blondie?"

"Thanks for getting a ride on the clue bus."

Laying my head down on Hutch's chest, I listen to the steady beat of his heart. "There’s nowhere else I'd rather be. Nowhere in the world, babe."

**Epilogue**

“Starsk?”

I crack one eye open and contemplate the ragged hole in my right deck shoe, a plight which bothers me not one iota. “Yeah, Hutch?”

It was about a year after the tragic death of Officer Anthony Simms that our lives took a definite U-turn. It was plain to see that Hutch was becoming increasingly disillusioned not only with the work we were doing, but also with the justice system itself. And I’ll be honest, I didn’t think our partnership as cops and as a committed duo was going to survive the shit that rained down on us that last year. It was bad, the worst in our history as partners.

I’m not sure whose light bulb of understanding snapped on first but we soon realized the job came with too high a price attached to it. A final brush with death – mine to be exact at the hands of James Gunther – clinched it for Hutch, and the minute they discharged me from the hospital, he had me dialing my friend in Florida. It was a decision we’ve never regretted making. Better to live and love while alive and healthy, Hutch told me, than to live with only the memory of what could have been to keep you warm at night.

I agreed one hundred percent. Loving a live Hutch is the  **only** way I want to spend the rest of my years.

“Starsk?”

“What’cha need, Kemosabe?”

“Mrs. Lepkowski needs her hook baited.”

Dropping my arm over the side of my chair, I fish out a fresh beer from the ice cooler beside me. “And whose job is that?”

“Come on, Starsk. If you bait her hook, I’ll treat you to a full body massage when we get home.

Hutch’s shadow falls over me, and I grin lopsidedly up at him. “That particular bribe didn’t work ten years ago, and it’s not gonna work now. Remember, you bait, I cast.”

Ten years. God, has it been ten years?

It didn’t take long after we moved to Florida for Hutch to find his niche. Not only did he love fishing on the open water but he quickly immersed himself in the community of our new home. He soon had us volunteering at the local soup kitchen, the homeless shelter AND we both became Big Brothers to a couple of local kids.

The charter business, which we now own thanks to Hutch’s surprising success in the stock market, has really done well for us. In fact, business has been so good, we took some of our earnings and put a substantial down payment on a little hole in the wall burger joint out by the marina. And if I have my way ‘Dave’s Bar and Grill’ will only serve food guaranteed to clog the arteries. Tofu burgers, my ass.

So yeah, it’s been a busy decade, to say the least.

Wicked fingers tip-toe up my thigh and slide under my shorts, reminding me that I’m currently missing a specific piece of clothing, the fault of which rests solely on the shoulders of my current tormenter.

“Feels like there’s a shark on the loose inside these shorts.”

Hutch’s grin is downright evil, and if it wasn’t for the five old biddies sitting not three feet behind us, I’d lick it right off his face. “Watch it, Blue Eyes. Don’t think you want me throwin’ a rod in front of our customers.”

Hutch sneakily grazes my balls with the tips of his fingers, and while I’m gritting my teeth trying desperately not to beg for more, he slips behind my chair and drapes his arms over my shoulders. To anyone who’s looking you’d think he was helping me hold my rod – fishing rod, that is. What our prim and proper group of retired school teachers can’t see is Hutch stroking me through my shorts.

“Have I told you that I love you lately?” Hutch asks while taking a tour of my ear with his tongue.

I wiggle in my seat and discover my ass is still quite happy with the fucking it received earlier this morning. “We could always cut this trip short if you want to ‘tail’ it to me again.” I elbow Hutch. “Get it?  **Tail** it to me again.”

Hutch rewards my pun with a sharp nip of teeth to my earlobe. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You haven’t seen nothing yet.” Swiveling my chair around, I wink at the ladies huddled behind us before laying one on Hutch that has everyone gasping for breath. “Give me another fifty years, and I’ll show you plenty more.”

“Is that a promise?”

“You bet’chum, babe.”

I slap Hutch on the ass and grin like the lovesick fool I’ve been for the past decade. “Okay, Hotlips, help me haul anchor so that we can get this boat back to shore. My  _shark_ is on the hunt and you, my partner, are its next meal.”

 

The end

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Old Zine story -- Dyad, Issue 23
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> And . . . [You can follow me and my eclectic tastes on Tumblr!](http://angelise7.tumblr.com/)


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